Pedigree Prince
by Ao Yoake
Summary: The prince of the underworld is by far one of the most stubborn, cunning, and disrespecting of people in Ikebukuro, but would any of that change if he were to be banished from all which he'd been promised? Would he be willing to accept the help of a lowly mercenary if he had nowhere else to go...?


**Hi~****! This is but an excerpt to an idea of mine! My idea was to take the characters of Durarara and put them into an alternate univers of sorts. As per usual, this will contain shounen-ai (boy x boy love), so you've been warned. Of course, as this is an excerpt, it doesn't really have shounen-ai yet... ^^; Well, without further ado!**

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"Why do I have to do this?" whined a small child, and for good reason. Over the past few months, his mentors had started a procedure in which they exposed him to every known toxin in the world (always in small dosages, mind you). It was a painful process, filled with many fevers and bedridden days. "It hurts."

"Your Highness, we've explained this many times before," said his chamberlain, Simon, "you must build up a resistance to toxins. It's for your own good. There are many people who would love to see you dead."

To an outsider, language such as this would be shocking when used on a child of only five, and not to mention Simon's rather bulky and intimidating stature. Simon's overall way with words and appearance made him very scary, though he wasn't aware of this. Nonetheless, his way with words was necessary when speaking to Orihara Izaya of all people. Izaya's bullheadedness, wit, and oftentimes sharp tongue made it nearly impossible for any more than a select few others than Simon capable of dealing with him.

As if to display the very motion of these thoughts, Izaya snapped, "A fine lot of good that's doing me. Rather than hire more personal guards, you can just weaken me with poison so that when the assassins arrive I'll be all the more vulnerable."

"Your Highness!" exclaimed a slender bombshell of a woman, and also his maid and companion. Her dark eyes were intelligent beyond the years her young face displayed, and her hair was a flowing ebony down to just below her mid-back. At a glance, a stranger might have mistaken her for Izaya's mother. The strong resemblance between her and the young boy of Asian heritage was definitely a reason for confusion.

Simon held up one of his hands to silence her, "That is enough, Kanra."

She made a tiny bow and exited the room. She knew from the sudden foreboding atmosphere that she was unwanted. Izaya watched with displeasure as she dismissed herself. He, for one, hadn't been eager to shoo her out of the room. Simon fixed the boy with a stern gaze. Izaya recognized the expression he made as one that appeared whenever he was about to try to make a bargain with him. His eyes glowed with anticipation, but he kept his expression neutral.

"How about a bargain," Simon suggested to Izaya, just as he'd predicted. He held up two fingers, "You take two poison vial today, I buy you Russian sushi for week."

Izaya smirked in his triumph, and Simon's usual heavy accent that slipped through when he was more aggravated than usual didn't go unnoticed. It happened whenever the Russian chamberlain was focusing too hard, and forgot to focus on speaking with proper Japanese; therefore, it made it quite evident to Izaya that he'd succeeded in both getting what he wanted and making Simon's job just that much more difficult.

"You have to get me ootoro. _Ootoro_!"

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, "prince always wants expensive sushi."

Prince Izaya, a boy no older than five, chuckled darkly, "Papa and mama never buy me sushi. I want ootoro, or I'll tell them about you bribing me with sushi whenever I don't take my daily doses of poison," he said with a sinister smirk.

Sadly, even though Simon thought his master's son was an impudent brat, his hands were tied. After all, who would Mr. Orihara rather believe? His beloved son, or his most trusted servant? Obviously, it would be his only son, the heir to his throne. A throne built on the blood and suffering of many, but a throne, no less.

Simon grit his teeth, "You drive hard bargain, young prince. I accept."

That triumphant smirk crossed the boy's face again. Was there ever any doubt?


End file.
